


we could be just anywhere (but no one's going home)

by alotofthingsdifferent, folignos



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:25:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4854617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alotofthingsdifferent/pseuds/alotofthingsdifferent, https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twice-Told Tales is sandwiched between a Starbucks and a sub shop, but Ben wouldn’t want it any other way.  All his books are in kind of crappy shape, bent corners and all (Ben loves that, actually -- the way they're broken in, well read and well loved) but they have that amazing book <i>smell</i> that Ben has always loved.  He’d never be caught dead using a Kindle or something -- he loves the solid weight of a book in his hands, the way the pages flutter under his fingers.</p><p>He has a pretty steady customer base, a few he knows by name, but there’s one guy he sees nearly every day. He's quiet, hangs out in the back in an over-sized chair Ben put back there for people just like him, who want to enjoy a coffee and flip through a few books before deciding the best fit for them. He always looks so relaxed, leaned back in the chair with his ankle resting on his knee, coffee perched precariously on his knee (Ben lives in constant fear that it's going to spill all over this guy's leg and burn him.) </p><p>He buys a book every time he's in, but they've never had a conversation between Ben telling him his total and the guy thanking him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we could be just anywhere (but no one's going home)

**Author's Note:**

> This started as chatfic and ended as this. 
> 
> Jay and Amanda, making Ben/Paulie happen since 2015.

Twice-Told Tales is sandwiched between a Starbucks and a sub shop, but Ben wouldn’t want it any other way. All his books are in kind of crappy shape, bent corners and all (Ben loves that, actually -- the way they're broken in, well read and well loved) but they have that amazing book _smell_ that Ben has always loved. He’d never be caught dead using a Kindle or something -- he loves the solid weight of a book in his hands, the way the pages flutter under his fingers.

He has a pretty steady customer base, a few he knows by name, but there’s one guy he sees nearly every day. He's quiet, hangs out in the back in an over-sized chair Ben put back there for people just like him, who want to enjoy a coffee and flip through a few books before deciding the best fit for them. He always looks so relaxed, leaned back in the chair with his ankle resting on his knee, coffee perched precariously on his knee (Ben lives in constant fear that it's going to spill all over this guy's leg and burn him.) 

He buys a book every time he's in, but they've never had a conversation between Ben telling him his total and the guy thanking him.

One afternoon, after the guy really _does_ almost spill his coffee everywhere, Ben pulls an old end table from the back room and sets it down next to the chair in the back. The next time the guy comes in, Ben watches him carefully from his spot behind the counter. He doesn't miss the small smile that crosses the guy’s face when he notices the table and sets his coffee down on it before browsing the shelves for something to read. 

"I was getting seriously concerned for your well-being," Ben calls out, and the guy turns his head and smiles. Ben's a little startled at how pretty his eyes are behind his glasses. "That coffee balancing act was a disaster waiting to happen."

"I have a lot of practice balancing coffee," the guy says, still smiling. 'Thanks, though.'

'You can't buy my books if you're in the ER with third degree burns,' Ben says with a smile. 'What are you feeling today?'

The guy shrugs, dragging his fingers along the spines of the books. "Something historical, I think," he says. "A period piece, maybe."

"I just got a few new things in, hang tight," Ben says, and disappears into the back. 

He reappears with a couple of Victorian novels and a copy of _The Master and Margarita_. The guy's eyes light up.

"That's my _/favourite_ , how did you know?"

"Just lucky, I guess," Ben says, and hands the book over. The cover is well-worn and the spine is soft, and Ben almost doesn’t want to give it up.

"My copy got lost in the move out west," the guy says. "I haven’t found a new one that smells right yet." He flushes delicately, turning the book over in his hands. 

Ben beams at him. "Now you're speaking my language," he says. "There's nothing like the smell of a book, know what I mean?"

The guy smiles warmly, and Ben is instantly charmed. "I'm Paul," the guy says, holding out a hand.

"Ben," he says, sliding his hand into Paul's grip. "Nice to officially meet you."

Paul beams at him. "How much do I owe you for this?"

"Call it a gift," Ben says, grinning back. "Valued customer and all."

"Well I don't know about that," Paul laughs. "But thanks. This is great. Do you mind if I --" He waves the book in the direction of the chair.

"Not at all, man. Have at it. Enjoy." He watches out of the corner of his eye as Paul sinks down into the chair and flips the book open, a small smile on his lips as he reads through the first few pages.

Ben falls into his work routine pretty easily, padding around and reshelving the new books, thermos of tea in one hand. He’s so absorbed in his work that he doesn't notice Paul leave until he's gone. Ben frowns, confused, when he finds a small pile of cash on the table, exactly the cost of the book he gave Paul, but puts the money in the till anyway. 

**

Ben's working out the next morning at the gym near his apartment when he sees a familiar face walk through the door. He's kind of ashamed to admit that he nearly trips over his own feet at the way Paul's black shirt is clinging to the muscles in his chest and arms. 

He looks away immediately and ups the speed on the treadmill, turning up the music on his ipod so he can focus on finishing his run without falling on his face. 

He's dripping when he finally gets off, and almost runs straight into Paul, just heading in from the weight room.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Paul says, sounding genuinely surprised. “I should have guessed, though. Not many bookstore owners look like _that_.” He waves an arm in Ben’s general direction and then ducks his head, smiling. “That was inappropriate, wasn't it?'

Ben's still trying to catch his breath from his run, but he shakes he head.”'I don’t mind inappropriate,” he says, and is then immediately incredibly glad he's already red in the face.

Paul laughs, loud and bright, and Ben can't help but smile helplessly.

"Would you wanna grab coffee after this?" he asks, feeling bold, but Paul's still smiling, so that must be a good thing. "My treat, though, since you paid for that book when it was supposed to be on the house."

Paul laughs again, and Ben is trying very hard not to be charmed. "No, I didn't. That was for the civil war book I grabbed from the shelf when you were in the back."

"So _that’s_ where it went," Ben says. "I was wondering."

"Sorry," Paul offers. "I'll buy you coffee to make up for it?"

It’s supposed to be Ben’s treat, but he thinks at this point it doesn’t really matter. He’d say yes no matter who was buying. 

Ben learns that Paul's actually from Minnesota, but lived in Pittsburgh for a while when his job got transferred. "I liked Pittsburgh," Paul says over his mug, "but the job wasn't for me. I always wanted to work in education, but not administration, so when a teaching job came up at Berkeley, I applied, just for the hell of it."

"And you got it," Ben fills in, and Paul nods. 

"And I got it. It was a big change, but I love it. I’m glad I made the move.” He takes another sip of coffee and puts his mug down, hands still wrapped around it. “What about you?”

"Grew up in New England," Ben says. "Played hockey in college, got drafted, it just. Never worked out. I moved out here because it was the most different place to New England that I could think of."

"You didn't like it?" Paul asks, sitting back in his chair. 

Ben shrugs. "Didn't want to be reminded of what I'd never have, I guess," he tells Paul. "And I've always loved books-- had quite the collection back home. I remember spending hours in the library as a kid, just-- y'know. being nerdy and taking everything in."

“People don’t care about hockey out here," Paul says. 

"Exactly," Ben agrees. "But they do care about secondhand books."

"Your place is really great," Paul says. "I'm not a Barnes and Noble kind of guy, so I was pretty pumped when you opened."

"Thanks," Ben says, flattered. "I do pretty okay for myself, for the most part. You really are one of my best customers, though," he says, kicking gently at Paul's shoe. 

"I try," Paul says. "I like old books. Can't help myself, sometimes. I come in, promising myself I'll just browse, and come home with three new books. I suspect witchcraft, actually."

Ben laughs. "I _was_ born in Salem. Just not _that_ Salem."

Paul laughs again and sits back in his seat, then checks his watch. "I have to go," he says, and Ben swears he sounds a little disappointed. He tries not to think about it too much. "I have a class in an hour."

"Thanks for the coffee," Ben says as they're walking out. He holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. "See you tomorrow, maybe?"

“I'm almost done with _The Master and Margarita_ , so definitely,' Paul says. He pauses, ducks in to kiss Ben's cheek quickly, and leaves.

Ben grins the whole way home.

**

Paul doesn't show up at the store the next day, and Ben can't pretend he's not disappointed. He supposes maybe he read the situation wrong, but he can't imagine Paul goes around just kissing everyone on the cheek.

Or maybe he does. How would Ben know?

He's locking up when Paul appears outside the door. Ben nearly jumps out of his skin. 

Paul's holding a paper bag that smells like pastries. "I'm so sorry," he says. "I got caught up marking midterms. I brought you bear claws to apologize.”

Ben smiles helplessly and peeks inside the bag. "You don't have to apologize," he tells Paul, "But these look delicious." He takes a small step back and waves Paul in, locking the door behind them.

He doesn't turn all the lights back on, just the one in the back of the store, and when Paul settles into his usual chair, Ben sits on the floor near his feet.

Paul bumps his knee against Ben's head gently, and Ben tilts his head back to smile at him. 'You gonna read to me?' he asks, before tearing the bag open properly and biting into a bear claw. “Oh my god,” he moans around a mouthful of deliciousness. “There are amazing, where did you get them?'”

Ben definitely has icing sugar on his face, but he doesn’t care. 

“I, uh. I made them,” Paul says. “Do you really want me to read to you?”

Ben blinks up at him, licking at the sugar at the corner of his mouth. "You _made_ them? Seriously?"

Paul nods, his eyes dropping to Ben's mouth for a fraction of a second. Ben would have missed it, honestly, if he hadn't been so into how _blue_ Paul's eyes are. "Yeah, uh. I like to bake, so."

“Bake for me forever,” Ben says, taking another huge bite. “You can pay for your books in pastries from now on.”

Paul laughs, but he still looks distracted. “Keep letting me read in your store, and you have a deal.”

"You're welcome any time," Ben says, and then laughs quietly, tugging at the collar of his shirt. "Is it warm in here?" he says, only half-kidding.

Paul laughs and nudges Ben with his knee again.

“I swear I don't do this with all the customers,” Ben says, flushing.

“'You have other customers?” Paul teases. “Seems like I'm the only one ever in here.”

"Hey," Ben says, swatting at Paul's leg. "Not all my customers make themselves at home like you do."

Paul's eyes are dancing when Ben looks up at him and he flushes a couple of shades darker. Paul has a hand on the back of his neck, trailing fingertips across his nape. 

Ben isn’t really sure what to do with his hands when Paul leans down to kiss him. He makes a small, surprised noise, but falls into the kiss, angling his body so he can reach up and touch Paul's face, the pads of his fingers dragging over Paul's beard.

Paul's hand grips at his elbow, tugging him up until Ben's sprawled in his lap. Ben starts laughing suddenly, so much that he has to break off the kiss.

"What?" Paul asks, giving him a gentle grin. 

"i just--" Ben tries to get it under control “I’ve just never done this before, and now I’m making out in an armchair in my place of work."

Paul just kisses him again."You've never done what before?" he asks, dragging his lips down Ben's jaw.

"Kissed a virtual stranger," Ben says, tilting his head. "I don’t even know your surname."

“Martin," Paul says. "Now can I get my mouth all over you?”

Ben laughs in surprise, but his dick is apparently very much interested in this turn of events. "Uh," he says, because he wasn't kidding-- he really never has done something like this before, not without a few proper dates.

"I'm sorry," Paul says suddenly, his neck going red. "That was really forward, wow." He laughs softly and kisses the corner of Ben's mouth where it's still sticky with icing sugar. 

"Come home with me," Ben says suddenly. 

Paul smiles at him, fond. "Really?"

“Yeah," Ben says, and kisses him again. When they finally break apart, Ben’s hard against the zipper of his jeans and Paul’s lips are kiss-swollen and very, very pink.

Ben's apartment is a short walk from the bookstore, and they walk in comfortable silence, hands brushing every now and then. When they finally get inside, Ben crowds Paul up against the door as soon as it's closed.

Paul raises an eyebrow, amused. "I thought you never do this."

"I don't," Ben says, leaning in to bite at Paul's collar bone. "But I've been thinking about this-- with you-- since the other day." Since before then, if he’s being honest with himself, but Paul doesn’t need to know that.

"Really?" Paul asks, tilting his head down to brush a kiss against the corner of Ben's mouth.

"You're kind of stupid hot," Ben admits, and Paul laughs before pulling him in by the collar of his shirt and kissing him properly.

He gets his arms on Ben's biceps and flips them so Ben's the one against the wall. He slots his leg between Ben's thighs and leans in, rocking his hips. "I've been watching you for weeks," he admits, biting at Ben's lower lip. "You're so fucking hot, you know that?"

"Uh," Ben says. "Yes?"

Paul laughs again, slips a hand under Ben's shirt, thumbs at the cut of his hip. "Wanna take this off?" he asks. 

Ben pulls his shirt up and over his head, tosses it on the floor beside them. Paul's hands are on him immediately, thumbs brushing over his nipples before his fingers trace the taut muscles in Ben's abdomen until his hands come to rest at Ben's waistband.

"Can I?" he asks, tugging lightly

"Gotta lose your shirt first," Ben says, tugging a button undone. 

"Deal," Paul says, and it joins Ben's on the floor before he pulls open Ben's pants and drops to his knees. 

Ben's head falls back against the door when Paul mouths at the cuts of his hips, tugging his pants and underwear down to his knees. He peppers teasing kisses all over Ben's inner thighs, noses at his balls and drags his jaw over Ben's length until Ben is ready to beg for his mouth.

Ben runs a hand over Paul's wavy hair, scrabbling for purchase. He gasps when Paul sucks the tip of his dick into his mouth, hands gripping the meat of Ben's ass, pulling him closer.

Paul swirls his tongue around the head, taking Ben down by inches before moving back up slowly, hollowing his cheeks as he goes.

"Oh my _god_ , Paul," Ben groans, already weak in the knees. It's been a while since anything but his own hand touched his dick, and he's definitely missed this feeling.

Paul pulls off for a moment, just long enough to tell Ben not to come, and sinks back down easily, hollowing his cheeks again. The back of Ben's head hits the doorjamb when he tips it back, but he doesn't care. He clenches his fists at his sides and concentrates on not fucking into Paul's mouth and coming down his throat.

It's not easy.

Paul's loud, and kind of sloppy with it. It's driving Ben _insane_.

"Paul," Ben warns, one hand tightening in Paul's hair. "I can't-- I'm gonna--"

Paul pulls off with a pop, swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, and stands up to kiss him. Ben can taste himself on Paul's tongue, can feel his dick nestled into Paul's hip, and he thrusts shallowly against the rough material of Paul's pants, leaving a shiny trail behind. 

Paul gets his hands on Ben's ass and pulls him even closer, and Ben groans into the kiss, his fingertips digging into Paul’s shoulders. “Unless you want me to come all over your pants,” Ben mumbles, biting at Paul’s lower lip, “we might wanna take this somewhere else.”

"Do you have a bedroom?" Paul asks, teasing, and Ben’s laugh is a little breathless.

"Just down the hall," Ben says, nodding that way. "You wanna see it?"

“Well, as long as I'm only seeing it,” Paul teases. “Wouldn't want to go in there, or anything.” He follows Ben down the hall, leaning against the door frame when Ben perches himself on the edge of the bed. His arms are folded over his chest, and his smile make Ben’s stomach somersault. 

“Am I invited in?" he asks, his eyes dropping between Ben's legs when Ben starts lazily jerking his dick. 

"i guess that'd be okay," Ben says, spreading his thighs and leaning back on an elbow. Paul's crosses the room in two long strides, and then his hands are everywhere, skirting over Ben's belly, over his hips and thighs, dragging over his chest and down his arms. "God, look at you," Paul says as he ducks in to swirl his tongue around Ben's nipple. "You're gorgeous.”

Ben tilts his head back for Paul to bite at his throat again, and hums. "Same to you," he says, scraping his blunt nails down Paul’s back. 

"God," Paul groans, rubbing his beard over Ben's collar bone. "I wanna fuck you so bad. Can't stop thinking about it."

“Yeah?” Ben asks, his voice hoarse. “What’s stopping you?”

He pulls at Paul's waistband, fumbling it, and Paul laughs, reaching down to help. 

Paul's dick is long and slender with a nest of coarse, reddish curls at the base. Ben runs his fingers along the length, and Paul closes his eyes.

"Fuck, Ben," he says, arching into the touch. "You keep doing that and we're not gonna get very far.”

Ben laughs and jerks Paul's dick a few more times before letting go and scooting up the bed so his legs aren't hanging over the edge anymore. "C'mere," he says, and Paul goes, straddles his lap and ducks in for another kiss.

Paul grinds down on Ben's dick easily, making Ben’s mouth go slack, and his eyes flutter a little.

“Fuck, _Paulie,_ " he gasps, pulling him closer, and Paul goes easily, biting at the hinge of Ben’s jaw. 

"Lube?" Paul asks as he licks at the shell of Ben's ear. Ben throws his arm out and opens the drawer in his bedside table, fumbling around.

He eventually finds it, and holds it out, triumphant. Paul grins and bites down on his earlobe, nosing along the smooth skin of Ben’s neck. Ben flicks the cap open and pours some into his hand before reaching between Paul's legs, stroking his dick slowly, his grip loose and then tight. 

Paul's head falls to his shoulder and he turns, kissing Ben's neck. "Fuck, you're so -- yeah, like that," he gasps when Ben thumbs at the head of his cock. 

Ben grins, and flips them so Paul's on his back, and he slicks himself up with with two fingers, hovering over Paul's dick as he spreads the lube around.

Ben sinks down slowly, and watches Paul's eyes go wide.

" _Jesus,”_ Paul breathes, his eyes falling closed when Ben starts to move. He lifts his hips slowly, then presses back down, his head falling back when Paul's buried inside him.

Ben starts rolling his hips, slowly at first, adjusting to the feeling of Paul's dick. Paul rocks his hips upwards too, quick, shallow thrusts, and Ben falls forward, back curving over so he can kiss Paul and let him fuck up into him slowly.

Paul lets one hand rest on Ben's hip while the other trails up his spine to cup the back of his neck as they kiss. They fuck lazily, nothing urgent about it, and Ben moans into the kiss when Paul gets a hand between them to touch Ben's dick.

“Fuck,” Ben says into Paul's mouth. “Fuck, do that again.”

Paul twists his wrist, squeezes just above the frenulum, and Ben arches his back, shudders, and clenches down on Paul’s cock.

"Oh god," Paul groans, his hips snapping up and his thighs tightening as he comes.

Ben keeps going, fucking up and down until Paul manages to tighten his grip a little, jerk him off clumsily until he comes all over Paul's belly, splashing up his chest.

He falls next to Paul's side with a huff, presses his nose into Paul's neck. "Holy shit," he breathes, and Paul laughs softly, his fingers trailing up Ben's spine, slick with sweat.

“I'm too old for this,” Paul says, laughing softly. “I think I'm done for the whole week.”

Ben’s slightly embarrassed about the giggle that bubbles from his throat, and his stomach flips. Okay, yeah. Might be time to admit that he really likes this guy.

"Honestly," Ben says, "I'm surprised I lasted as long as I did. It's, uh. Been awhile."

Paul stretches, rolls onto his side. 'Me too. There was a guy back east, but. He moved away. And then I moved further. So.'

Ben closes his eyes and leans into Paul's touch when he cups his jaw, his thumb rubbing small circles into Ben's cheekbone. It's been a long time since Ben's had anyone in his bed, let alone anyone stay over, and he opens his eyes, suddenly worried Paul's going to leave.

'Do you-- are you--' He stops. Paul looks at him, mildly concerned. “Stay?” Ben asks, helpless, and Paul gives him a brilliant smile.

“I'd like nothing more,” he admits.

Ben breathes out in relief, hiding his own smile in Paul's shoulder. 

"I could use a shower though," Paul tells him. "Would you mind?"

“Can I come?” Ben asks, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Sure,” Paul says. “No funny business though. If you break my hip trying to have shower sex, we're definitely not going on another date.”

Ben ends up standing behind him, tilting Paul's head gently as he shampoos his hair. It's intimate, and Ben enjoys it more than he probably should for this being a guy he just met.

He washes the last of the lather out, and kisses the nape of Paul’s neck. He tastes faintly like apples. Paul hums and tips his head back to rest it on Ben's shoulder. “Hey,” he says, grinning and accepting a wonky kiss.

Paul turns in Ben's arms and Ben's hands come to rest at his hips. He pulls him in, their bodies slick as they come together. Paul laughs into the kiss.

“You're insatiable,” he says, and kisses back.

“I can’t help it,” Ben says, laughing, and lets Paul bite at his lower lip.

He lets Paul wash his hair, too, and they soap each other up before rinsing off under the spray. 

Paul towels Ben off, and Ben lets him, and Ben's last thought before falling asleep is that he could really get used to this.

**

He wakes up in the morning alone in bed, and he’s hit with a pang of disappointment that Paul didn’t stick around, until he hears movement in the kitchen, and something that smells a lot like--

“You made me French toast?” he asks, padding into the kitchen.

Paul looks up from the stove. “I made myself French toast,” he teases. “I guess I could share with you though.”

Ben moves behind him, wraps his arms around Paul's waist and kisses his shoulder. 

"Looks delicious," he says.

Paul reaches behind him to squeeze Ben’s hip, and turns a little for a morning kiss.

“Help yourself,” he says, waving his arm at the array of cut fruit and juice, handing him a plate of toast.

"Did you run to the market?" Ben asks, surprised. 

Paul smiles. "You didn't have much in the way of breakfast," he says, and Ben flushes. 

"Yeah, it's just me, so I, uh. I order in a lot."

Paul tuts. “Don't judge me,” Ben says, nudging him. “We can't all be amazing cooks in our free time.”

"Play your cards right and I'll start cooking you dinner, too," Paul says, and when Ben doesn't respond right away, "I'm sorry. I'm getting--way ahead of myself here." He laughs nervously and rubs the back of his neck, and Ben shakes his head quickly.

“No, no, it's fine, I would _love_ for you to cook me dinner,” Ben says, grabbing for his hand and bringing it up to his mouth, kissing Paul’s palm. “'I just hadn't really thought that far.”

“How far had you thought?” Paul asks, helping himself to a giant wedge of cantaloupe.

“Mostly I'd thought about blowing you right here,” Ben admits, and watches Paul drop the melon on the floor.

Ben laughs, delighted. 

"Finish your breakfast," Paul scolds fondly. "And then we'll talk about what else we can put in your mouth."

Ben picks a banana out of the fruit bowl and watches Paul roll his eyes. “What?'” he asks, innocent. “I like bananas.”

Ben peels it slowly and feeds it into his mouth, then bursts out laughing and nearly chokes himself.

“Please don't die," Paul says, nudging him with his foot. "That'd be inconvenient."

"You'd miss me," Ben says, coughing a few more times before taking a drink of juice.

"I would," Paul says. "Who else am I gonna get blowjobs and dirt-cheap secondhand books from?”

Ben kicks at Paul's shin under the table. " I better be your only bookstore," he says. 

"My one and only," Paul says, laughing, and kisses him between mouthfuls of fruit. "Now about that blowjob?” 

Ben smirks, but just as he's getting to his knees, Paul's phone starts singing.

Paul hits the ignore button, but it goes off again seconds later. "You should get that," Ben says from his knees. 

Paul sighs in frustration and picks up the phone. By the time he's hung up, Ben's only gotten half the conversation, but he's figured out that Paul's needed on campus and he's clearly not happy about it. 

Ben kisses just above Paul’s knee, his fingertips dipping just under the hem of Paul’s boxers. “Everything okay?"

"Yeah, i think so. Someone's just fucked something up, and they need me to go in and unfuck it."

"I should get into the store anyway," Ben says, getting to his feet. He kisses the corner of Paul's mouth, his hands settling on Paul's hips. "Thanks for breakfast."

"Anytime," Paul says, and Ben smiles, because it sounds like Paul really means it.

They get dressed together, and head out of the apartment holding hands. Ben feels a little bit like a teenager again. It’s a pretty good feeling.

Paul kisses him goodbye on the corner, promising to call him later, and Ben heads to work feeling like he's got an extra bounce in his step.

**

He spends most of the morning into the afternoon rearranging the civil war section, cleaning the shelves and stacking the books just right. He steps back to admire his handiwork when he hears the bell above the door jingle. He pokes his head around the corner and sees a guy standing at the counter, shifting anxiously from foot to foot.

"Hi," he says as he approaches. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," the guy says, his voice rough, and Ben's heart stops when the guy points a gun at his face. "Open the register."

Ben’s heart leaps into his throat, and he takes everything in him to stay calm. He puts his hands up to show the guy that he’s not going to put up a fight and fumbles with the register.”Okay,” he says evenly, “but I just opened, there's not much in there that isn’t loose change.”

The guy leans over the counter and hits him in the jaw with the butt of his gun. "Shut the fuck up and put the money in the bag!” he shouts, and Ben stumbles back, the corner of the counter jabbing into his side as he grabs his jaw. "Okay, okay, just relax, I'm getting-- "

"Shut the fuck _up_!" the guys snaps, and Ben notices that his free hand is shaking. He shoves the gun into Ben's chest and pushes, and Ben can almost feel the bruise blooming under his shirt. "Don't talk. Give me the fucking _money._ "

“Okay, okay,” Ben says. “Okay. I’m just gonna put the money in there, okay?” he says, pointing at the bag the guy's holding. He can feel the side of his face starting to swell.

The guy shoves the bag at him, and Ben puts the entire contents of the register in the bottom. It totals maybe thirty five bucks, and Ben hopes that’s enough to get the guy out of here.

“Wallet, phone, watch,” the guy says, jabbing the gun at him again, so Ben adds them to the bag, trying to keep his own hands steady.

“That’s all I have, I promise,” he says, holding his hands out, palms up.

The guy's hands are still shaking when he points the gun at Ben's head again. "Get in the back," he growls, and Ben makes the mistake of hesitating for just a second. The guy hits him again and shouts "Go!" and Ben finally stumbles to the back room, his heart racing. He holds his breath, his back to the door, and only breathes again when he hears the bell above the door jingle, signaling the guy's escape.

He doesn't realise his hands are shaking until he looks at them. There's a small mirror in the back room, and he looks at himself to see bright purple swelling across his jaw. He looks like he got hit by a linebacker and wasn’t wearing a helmet. His hands are shaking so much he can't wipe the blood away from the small cut on his lip.

He really has no idea what to do. The guy took his phone, there's no land line in the store (which, in hindsight, is pretty stupid), and he should probably find a way to call the police. 

Instead, he slides down the wall to the floor and sits there, on edge, and tells himself that he's fine. Everything's fine. 

He's never been more grateful for a small customer base. 

The bell above the door goes again, and Ben freezes, staring at the door to the front of the shop. He hears footsteps, silence, then footsteps again, and his heart is pounding, his fists clenched at his sides. 

“Ben? Ben, you here?” someone calls, and the tension in Ben’s shoulders loosens as he blows out a long, relieved breath.

"Back here," he calls out, and his voice cracks as he says it. He looks up from his spot on the floor when Paul pushes the door open.

His eyes go wide when he sees Ben. "What the fuck -- Ben, _jesus_ , what happened?" He crouches next to him, and Ben tries really hard to keep his hands from shaking.

“Some guy. He had a gun. Took everything from the till. I'm okay,” he says, and then, off Paul’s look, “I _am_. Just-- a little bruised.”

“You're in shock, and you're bleeding everywhere. I'm taking you to the ER.”

"I'm _fine_ ," Ben tries, but Paul shakes his head and help him to his feet. 

"You're shaking," Paul say, and Ben feels like an idiot. He's a grown man, he's _fine,_ the gun probably wasn't even loaded--

But maybe it was.

He sucks in a breath and lets it out slowly, trying to maintain his composure. 

“Okay,”he says. “I-- you can-- ER.”

Paul talks to him quietly the entire car ride about nothing in particular, and Ben feels himself calming down. His jaw starts to ache really badly about halfway there, and he can't really move it by the time Paul's pulling into a parking spot.

Paul does the talking for him, and when the check-in nurse asks Ben for ID, Ben looks at Paul helplessly. 

“He got mugged,” Paul says, tightly. “He doesn't have ID.”

The nurse taps at a few keys. “Does he have insurance?”

“Put him on mine,” Paul says, handing his license over. The nurse looks at him patiently and offers a small smile.

“I’m sorry sir, are you related to the patient?” Paul clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “Then I’m afraid I can’t just put him on your insurance. We’ll see him, there’ll just be a bit more paperwork once the bill is sent.”

"Paul," Ben says through his teeth. Fuck, his jaw hurts. 

Paul puts a hand up, quieting him, and when the nurse hands everything back, they sit down to wait. Paul puts an arm around him, gentle, and strokes his fingers up and down Ben's bicep. 

Ben feels sick by the time someone calls his name, and he has to lean on Paul to cross the waiting room. 

He explains to the doctor what happened, pulls his shirt up and off so they can examine him. He was right -- there's a bruise blooming on his chest, and one on his hip where he hit the corner of the counter. 

Paul's watching him carefully, biting his lower lip in concern.

“I'm okay,” he says, reaching out for Paul. “Promise. Just sore.”

The doctor confirms that nothing is broken, stitches up the cut on his lip, and gives him a prescription for Arnica gel. “Do you need me to call the police?” he asks. “Have you filed a report yet?”

Ben swallows hard and shakes his head sharply before Paul can speak. “Just take me home, okay?” he says quietly, and Paul stares at him for a long moment before finally agreeing. He leads Ben out of the hospital with a hand on the small of his back, and Ben wonders what he’d have done if Paul had never walked into his bookstore in the first place. 

**

“You don't have to stay," Ben says as he sets his keys on his kitchen table. "I'm just gonna go lie down for awhile anyway, after I call and cancel all my credit cards."

"You need to file a police report," Paul says, and Ben shakes his head. 

"The guy got maybe forty bucks and my phone. He needed it more than I do."

“Ben, you can’t just-- “

“Yeah, I can,” Ben says, and it comes out more sharply than he intended. He sighs heavily and rolls his shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just-- I don’t even remember what the guy looked like.” It’s a lie-- he remembers everything. The scar above the guy’s left eyebrow, his dark, shaggy hair, the number twenty four tattooed on the inside of his wrist. Paul just doesn’t need to know that. 

“I'm gonna make you something to eat. You need sugar,” Paul says, and brushes his lips to Ben’s temple. “'You should nap, I'll wake you up in a while.'

"Paul, you don't have to--"

"Stop it," Paul says. "I want to." Ben watches him for a moment, then sighs softly and retreats to his bedroom to lie down.

It takes him awhile to get comfortable, and when he does, he drifts off to a restless sleep. 

When he wakes up some time later, Paul is on the bed with him, stroking long fingers through his hair.

“Hey,” he says, his voice thick with sleep, and winces. “God, my face.”

“It looks pretty bad,” Paul admits, touching two finger tips, feather light, to Ben’s jaw. “Let me put that stuff on it.”

He sits cross legged in front of Ben and rubs the Arnica in in small, gentle circles, then moves down to the flush of purple on Ben’s chest. Ben closes his eyes and breathes in slowly, and Paul rubs his fingers over the bruise on Ben’s hip. 

“Tingles,” Ben says, pulling a face, and Paul leans in and kisses his belly in apology.

"How are you feeling?" Paul asks, settling back in next to Ben, warm against his side. 

"Sore," Ben admits, and Paul kisses his temple.

"I know," he says, "but that's not what I meant. You went through something pretty scary back there."

Ben closes his eyes. He's trying not to think about that part-- the part where he had a _gun_ pointed at him. 

"I'll be okay," he says. "No blowjobs for while, though. Don't think my jaw can take it." He offers Paul a small smile, but he doesn't smile back.

“Please don't make jokes,” Paul says, quietly. “I was-- when I walked into the shop today, I was so freaked out. The register was open, and you were nowhere to be seen, and I shouted your name three or four times before you answered.”

“I didn't realise,” Ben says, flushing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out.” 

“Hey, no, don’t,” Paul says. “It wasn’t your fault, I just-- I’m just-- I'm sorry I wasn't there."

Ben smiles and turns his face into Paul's neck. "Stop it. You have a job and a life. You can't just sit in an easy chair reading books all day long. I know that."

“But don't I wish I could,” Paul says, kissing Ben's temple gently. “Come on. Come eat.”

**

"I'm going to gain a ton of weight dating you," Ben says around a mouthful of blueberry muffin. "Is this some ploy to make me unattractive to other men?"

Paul laughs. “You caught me.”

Ben takes another mouthful. “I don't even care, these are amazing.”

Paul cleans up the kitchen while Ben finds a movie on Netflix, and they spend the evening in bed holding hands. They fall asleep before the movie's over, and Ben wakes with a start when he swears he hears the click of his apartment door opening.

“Hey, what's up?” Paul asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He’s looking at Ben like he’s genuinely concerned, and Ben is suddenly so grateful to have him here. 

“Didn't you hear that?” Ben asks.

“Hear what?”

“My door opening. Someone just opened my front door.”

“I didn't hear anything,” Paul says, brows knitted together in a frown. “Do you want me to go check?”

"No!" Ben shouts, and grabs Paul's arm. He realizes that he's being ridiculous, and he closes his eyes, trying to calm his racing heart.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry. I know I'm being dumb.”

“It's not dumb,” Paul says firmly, and squeezes Ben’s hand. “I promise. You're okay. You're safe here with me, okay?”

"He has my ID," Ben says quietly. "He has my ID, which means he has my address, which means--"

"Which means nothing," Paul says. "He probably ditched the wallet and took your credit cards, and he's not getting anywhere with them anyway, because you cancelled them." Ben’s eyes go from Paul to the hallway and back to Paul again. “I promise everything’s okay,” Paul says. 'I'm gonna go check the front door though, just to be certain, okay?”

Ben nods, biting his lower lips as he watches Paul disappear towards the entry way. He's not gone long, and Ben finds himself breathing out in relief when Paul reappears. "All good," Paul says. "Locked up tight."

“Thank you,” Ben says, when Paul's climbing back into bed. “Sorry for being crazy.”

"You're not," Paul says. "I'd be freaked out too," he admits, curling up against Ben's side. 

"You'll stay, right?" Ben asks, and immediately regrets how needy he sounds.

“Of _course_ ,”' Paul says. ‘'You had an awful day, and I'm not leaving you alone for longer than it takes to pee. Unless you want me to go, and I can do that too.”

"You're being pretty nice to a guy you just met," Ben says with a smile. 

"Eh, what can I say," Paul says. "I'm a sucker for a pretty face."

Ben blushes, dark, and Paul laughs, kisses his unbruised cheek. "You should try and sleep," he says, quietly. "It's been a long day."

Ben turns on to his side and lets Paul curl up behind him, his fingers splayed over Ben's lower belly. Paul kisses his shoulder. 

"G'night," he mumbles, and Ben closes his eyes, already drifting off.

**

Ben wakes up the next morning and Paul is still wrapped around him, warm and solid. His hand is gripping Ben's hip tight, and his breath is tickling the back of his neck gently. Ben's -- content.

"Hi," Paul says softly, and Ben turns his head a little so Paul's lips brush his cheek. "Sleep okay?"

If he's telling the truth, the answer is no. He kept hearing noises, and every time he closed his eyes he saw the guy with the gun.

But he doesn't tell Paul that. "Yeah. Great," he lies. 

“Mm, I don't believe you,” Paul says. “But I'll let it go for now. Want me to make breakfast?”

“You're amazing,” Ben says, and turns his head for a proper kiss.

It starts out slow and lazy, but then Ben slots his leg between Paul's, and things get heated. "Breakfast can wait," Ben says, but when he moves to get on top of Paul, he winces, his ribs aching. 

“Still sore?'” Paul asks, pressing the palm of his hand to just below the bruising.

Ben nods.

”Jaw too?”

Another nod. Paul leans up and kisses the good side of his jaw gently. “Come on. Breakfast. I'll make something soft.”

Ben puts on his best pout and stares at the ceiling. He's hard in his sweats, and he knows Paul is too, and breakfast is the last thing on his mind. 

"Fine," he says. "But I'm getting my hand down your pants after."

“When you can roll over without wincing, then you can get me off,” Paul says, gentle, but firm, and he gets out of bed. “Come on. I'll make you the eggs I make for my niece after the orthodontist.”

"That could be weeks," Ben complains, but he gets out of bed gingerly and follows Paul to the kitchen anyway. "You have a niece?"

“I do,” Paul says. “Back in St Paul. She’s amazing.”'

“I have three brothers,” Ben offers. “No nieces or nephews yet, though.”

“They're the best," Paul says, cracking the eggs over a bowl.

Ben nods. "Yeah, kids are great." He sips the coffee Paul made him and watches him stir. 

"You want any of your own?" Paul asks casually. 

Ben nods slowly. “Some day. Growing up with so many brothers, it was a busy house, you know? This apartment is way too quiet, most of the time. But I'm still young. I got time.'

Paul nods and pours the mixture into the pan. "Yeah, I know what you mean. It's always nice to go home and see the kids because there's so many people around. I, uh. I lived with my ex back in Pittsburgh, so it's been strange here, living alone."

Ben nods. “How long were you guys together?”

Paul shrugs. “Couple years, maybe? I kind of thought we'd do the long distance thing, but when I got a job out here it just kind of. Fizzled out.”

Ben nods, studying Paul's face. "You still talk to him?" 

“On and off? He lives down in Nashville now, so. We email, occasionally.”

Ben's not the jealous type, he never has been, but he finds himself wanting to tell Paul he doesn't need that guy anymore. 

Paul smirks. "What?"

"What do you mean what?" Ben says, looking away.

"You have a look on your face."

“That's just my face,” Ben says. “Or the _horrific swelling_ from being hit in the face with a _gun_.”'

Paul looks a little guilty, but he's still smiling. “You're jealous.”

“What if I am?” Ben asks, folding his arms over his chest.

Paul grins widely. "You _are_ ," he says. "It's really cute."

Ben scowls, cupping his jaw when where it’s throbbing. “'Give me eggs,” he says. “I was promised eggs, not mocking.”

“Aww, babe," Paul says sweetly, kissing the top of Ben's head as he piles his plate. "I'm not mocking. it's cute."

Ben pouts, but lets Paul slide a plate of eggs and mushrooms fried in bacon fat over, and he digs in, carefully, conscious of the ache in his jaw.

"You wanna hang out today?" Paul asks before taking a bite of his own eggs. "We could go to the beach or something."

Ben smiles at him over his glass of juice. "You're not sick of me yet?" he asks. 

“Nope,” Paul says. 'You're fun, and you're not going to work today, so. Beach?”

"Has your skin ever even seen the sun?" Ben teases, skimming his fingers over Paul's arm. 

“I’m from Minnesota,” Paul says. "We don't have sunshine." 

Ben laughs, rolling his eyes playfully. 

“Seriously though, you’ll need to rub sunscreen onto my back for me, I burn like hell out here.”

"Oh yeah?” Ben asks, and slides a palm up Paul's arm. "I might not be able to keep my hands to myself after that."

“I'm shocked,” Paul deadpans, turning into the touch, accepting a kiss when Ben leans down.

“We could just stay here," Ben says as he kisses along Paul's jaw. 

"You're hopeless," Paul laughs, and swats at Ben's hand where it's snaking between his legs. "Cmon. I wanna hang out with you outside of this apartment."

Ben can't help but smile. "You do?"

Paul rolls his eyes. "Was I not being obvious enough? Coming into your bookstore every single day for a month wasn't a good enough clue?"

“I just thought you really liked books about World War One,” Ben teases, but drops his hand, and there's minimal groping when he applies sunblock to Paul's back and the tops of his shoulders before they head out for the beach. 

"Hey," Ben says, when they're walking along the water, feet in the waves. "Thank you."

"For what?" Paul asks, and Ben moves closer and laces their fingers together. 

"For helping me get through what happened yesterday," Ben says. "I really-- I mean, just. Yeah. Thank you."

"What, you thought I was just gonna leave you alone in your apartment after something like that?"

Ben shrugs, looking away. The bruise on his chest is pretty obvious, and his jaw is still achy and he can't open it that far. Regardless of Paul's intentions, Ben's glad he was there. 

"So we're doing this, then?" Ben asks, and he really hopes Paul gets what he's putting down here.

Paul smiles, and Ben's heart flips. "Yeah, Ben," he says, brushing a kiss to Ben's temple. "We're doing this."

Ben lights up, can't help it. "Oh." he says, stupidly. "Okay. Good."

"Good," Paul echoes, and kisses him again, grinning. 

-

Paul still comes in to the bookstore every day. He brings Ben lunch and helps him organize the shelves, and Ben lets him have first choice of anything new that comes in. 

(They also spend Ben's lunch break making out against the sturdier shelves. Paul's hands keep messing up Ben's hair, and his neatly tucked in button downs.)

He's happier than he can remember being since he moved to San Jose, and when he looks over at Paul sitting in the arm chair at the back of his bookstore, it’s pretty obvious why.


End file.
